Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.~ Dr. Seuss

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Sunday, January 25, 2009

***Birthday Alert******Birthday Alert***

Velma

This is the only picture I have of me with my Grandparents. Anthony was just 3 months old, and it was my birthday. My Grandma died 6 months later at age 62, and I really miss her. Now that I'm old(er), I can think of a million questions I would love to ask her.
Although I never knew "what was wrong" with her, she was always sick, and Grandpa took care of her. He bathed her, cooked for her, cleaned, did the shopping and tended to her every need. It's hard to define Grandma Ray separately from Grandpa, because almost every memory I have of her, includes him somehow.

There were the times when Grandpa would be outside working and I would just sit with Grandma and listen to the stories she would tell. Usually, they were more than just stories, they were lessons about consequences for ones actions. They were powerful lessons and she could back them up with proof. Like the time she told me about her brother, who sat on a thumb-tack that was put on his chair at school by some prankster. The tack went through a strand of thread in his jeans and caused him to get blood poisoning. Her brother died from that tack. Another time she told me of a young mother that left her hair dryer plugged into the bathroom outlet. Somehow the dryer fell into the bathtub as she was bathing her toddler. I think of that lesson everyday as I put my dryer away.

My Grandma couldn't smell and I was always curious about that. If there was no smell, there had to be something to replace it. Was it a different smell? I just couldn't grab the concept and would constantly question her about it. "What does apple pie smell like? What do lilac's smell like? What does dinner smell like?" She never lost her patience with me and would just say " I don't know, I guess apple pie smells like, apple pie."

I thought I had one over on her once. I wanted to paint my nails. I asked her if I could and she told me no, that the smell of paint made Grandpa sick (which I already knew). I begged, and she stuck to her guns, the answer was no. Grandma was about to take her nap, and...she couldn't smell. I quietly went into the bedroom and painted my nails. I didn't just paint them once either. I didn't like the first painting so I tried wipe it off before it dried and then repainted. I was so proud of myself. Then...Grandpa came in. That was the only time in my life I ever saw Grandpa mad. He immediately got sick and had to stay outside until the house aired out. Grandma wasn't mad and I wasn't in trouble with her. She just had the perfect opportunity to teach me a lesson and simply said " I told you". Those words stung deeper than if I had just been whipped with a belt. When Grandma told me something would happen, I usually believed her. There just wasn't any other choice. She could prove it.

Grandma Ray was the first close relative of mine to die and I was totally shocked and devastated. I loved her so much.